


Standstill

by bananaquit



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fiddauthor Week, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, fiddauthor - Freeform, parallel fiddauthor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 06:22:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11640753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananaquit/pseuds/bananaquit
Summary: As parallel Fiddleford prepares to send Ford off to fight Bill in the Nightmare Realm, things take an unexpected turn.





	Standstill

**Author's Note:**

> for day 6 of fiddauthor week: parallel fiddauthor

Ford was  _ supposed _ to be leaving. The quantum destabilizer was finished. They'd said their goodbyes. It was time for him to move onto the next dimension. But he wasn't leaving. He was just standing there in front of the portal at a distance just beyond the caution line, just far enough away so that it didn't suck him in quite yet. Stanford turned away from the portal to face his old assistant's parallel counterpart and just stared at him. Just  _ stared _ . Fiddleford didn't quite understand why his eyes were suddenly so big, why something in his face seemed so tense, so torn. Fiddleford furrowed his brow in confusion, wondering why he was frozen there like he was in shock. 

"Stanford?" he questioned, tilting his head slightly at the other man. There was no reply. Fiddleford couldn't quite read his face, but it was as if whatever emotion he wanted to show was trapped inside him. Fiddleford blinked at him, baffled. Perhaps he was having second thoughts? He knew the task of defeating Bill would be a dangerous one, but that had never made Ford falter before. He tried not to let the strange behavior faze him.

"Listen, you have to get going real soon." said Fiddleford. "My Stanford's coming down here for systems checkup at-" He paused to check his watch. "1:00 sharp, which is less than five minutes, so it'd be in the best interests of both of 'ya to move on out."

Again, no response. Ford’s gaze fell to the ground as if he was deep in thought. Fiddleford's foot tapped impatiently on the floor. Ford stared at it. Growing both frustrated and uneasy, Fiddleford gave a final warning. "Listen, Stanford, it's been great having you visit, but you gotta go ahead and get out of here. Otherwise, I'm going to be forced to shove you in there. I don't want my dimension destroyed. I'd reckon it's been dangerous enough keepin’ you here for as long as I have."

Finally, Ford moved from the spot where he was standing. Unfortunately, he didn’t move towards the portal. The opposite, actually. Towards  _ him _ . Fiddleford felt a hand take a gentle hold of the right side of his face and the other one rest softly on the back of his head. "What are you..." Fiddleford began, but was cut off when Stanford leaned forward and pressed his mouth against his. 

An unexpected kiss? Yes. A bad kiss? No. A bit sloppy, but that was to be expected. It was simple, just their lips touching together. It lasted perhaps a second or two, and then Ford pulled away. Fiddleford stood there, dumbfounded, as Ford walked away from him. He paused at the yellow-and-black line on the floor, turning back to look at him. 

“I love you.” said Ford. Then the blue light swallowed him whole and he disappeared, leaving a shocked Fiddleford behind. Fiddleford hit the shutoff switch and sank to his knees, putting his face in his hands. His head was swimming with so many thoughts and questions. He was so  _ confused _ . He’d had feelings for his Ford for a while now, that much was true, but he’d always assumed they weren’t returned. He’d never acted on them or talked about them due to anxiety and fear, but... did this mean his Ford felt the same way? Or was it just this one? Should he say something about it? What if he didn’t say anything? Why would he  _ do  _ that? Just go and kiss him and leave him mixed-up and flustered and then just  _ leave _ ? He was happy, angry, nervous, and sad all at once. He didn’t know  _ what _ to feel. 

_ “Goddamnit!” _ He shouted, slamming his fists on the floor. Frustrated tears leaked from his eyes and dripped down his cheeks as he stared at the space where Ford had just been. He cracked a crooked grin at nothing. “You fucking bastard.” he whispered to no one. “I love you, too.” He just wished  _ his  _ Ford could see that.

He heard footsteps behind him, then a voice. “Fiddleford?” Speak of the devil. The systems check, shit. He hadn’t anticipated he’d be in tears when his Ford arrived. This was bad. This was  _ very _ bad. Ford walked across the room toward him and knelt down beside him, concern in his gaze. He rested a hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder. “Fiddleford?” he repeated, his voice an octave higher than before. “A-are you alright? Did I do something?” 

Fiddleford was too stressed to reply. He choked out a sob, burying his face in his hands once again. Ignorant, foolish Ford. Perfect, lovable, oblivious, ever-guilty Ford, always assuming he’d done something wrong, always trying to make up for his mistakes, always caring so deeply. Fiddleford wasn’t sure whether to punch or kiss him. 

Ford muttered something to himself to keep from panicking and took a deep breath. He rubbed Fiddleford’s shoulder in a gentle, soothing motion. “I got you, buddy.” he said softly. Fiddleford rested his hands on his knees and looked away, trying his best to collect himself. He sniffled as his mind raced to come up with an excuse.

That was when he felt a six-fingered hand gently take hold of his. Softly, slowly, Stanford placed his hand on top of his and interlocked their fingers, each one of Fiddleford’s five finding a perfect place between Stanford’s six. His madly whirling brain suddenly came to a standstill and the world around him froze. 

Fiddleford sniffed and looked at Ford, the flow of tears starting to slow. Stanford was looking at him with a strange warmth in his brown gaze, something he hadn’t seen before. Something odd yet inviting. “Ford?” Fiddleford managed. “Can I-”

Ford abruptly jolted out of whatever trance he was in and drew both of his hands back. “Oh. Um,  _ shit _ . I’m so sorry about that, this- this is the _ worst  _ time for this…” Ford’s mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish out of water as he tried to make words come out of his mouth, his face visibly flushed. “Just… just tell… I…  _ fuck _ .”

Fiddleford couldn’t help but laugh. Teardrops still clung to his cheeks, but he was now grinning. “Stanford! Don’t curse.” he chided with a half-chuckle. 

The fear in Ford’s brown eyes lessened a little. “Please. You’re telling  _ me _ not to swear? Come on, Fidds, I knew you in  _ college _ . You don’t have to act like you’re Mr. Upstanding Christian Man around me. I know you better than that.” Ford rolled his eyes, though his body was still tense and his little smile was nervous in nature. Fiddleford noticed his hands shaking a bit. Ford responded by tucking them behind his back. 

A few moments of tense silence hung in the air. Ford, apparently pretending that hadn’t happened, used his tie to wipe the tears from Fiddleford’s face, cupping his cheek with one hand as he did so. “In all seriousness, are you alright? What happened?” Ford asked. “I-I, um… you don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to, naturally, but… I’m sorry.” 

Fiddleford blinked blankly at him. Fiddleford didn’t think there was anything he could do that would make Ford stop apologizing to him for every little mistake. He could commit a crime punishable by death and Ford would still put his life on the line for him, would still come running at his call, stumbling over his own feet to make sure he was okay. He could do… anything. 

So, with that in mind, Fiddleford grabbed Ford’s tie and yanked it toward him, crashing their lips together. 

Ford drew back with an audible gasp, his eyes wide. “I love you.” he blurted aloud, then clasped his hand over his mouth.

Fiddleford snickered. “And I love you, just to put it in no uncertain terms.”

Ford let his hand fall to his side, letting out a sigh of relief. “They were certain before?” he questioned, his cheeks still dusted a light pink. Ford ran a hand anxiously through his thinning, graying hair and adjusted his glasses.

“They were always certain. Certain, but unsaid.” Fiddleford spoke. He mirrored Ford and pushed his glasses up on his nose before taking one of Stanford’s hands between his own. Fiddleford gave him a wistful smile and stood, pulling Ford to his feet after him. “How’s about we go find a seat? I think we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Ford smiled softly back, though his gaze didn’t leave their clasped hands. “Yes, I suppose we do.”


End file.
